Medicine Park

Brad Reynolds comes home to Medicine Park, OK, to take over his father’s old business and try to put his life back together after a divorce.  He’s fitting in, he’s meeting great new people, he’s even started attending a Bible study.  Brad’s a great guy by everyone’s account.  What they don’t know is that he has an addiction.  He’s kept it well-hidden so far, but it’s already destroyed his marriage and it will soon destroy his whole life.  So Brad tries to bury it, to ignore it, to power his way through it … but it keeps escaping from the box he keeps it in.

(Cover photograph (c) 2012 Derrick Bias)

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What the Readers are saying …

“I really liked it.  I had never read a book with that viewpoint of the guy with the sex addiction.  It was interesting as he grew in Christ.  I thought it was very encouraging as we all have aspects of ourselves we need to put under Christ’s Lordship.” ~KD, LA

And the “sort-of” sequel …

If you would like to read more about Brad, Allie and Angie, be sure and pick up the novel Joyfully Ever After.

Sample Chapter

The divorce was final the same day his parents died in the car wreck.

He thought about not even telling Darria, or trying to tell her in such a way as to hurt her.  But he didn’t.  He just called her and, as she prepared for one of his trademark snide remarks involving either the postal service or how relieved he was to finally be rid of her, he calmly told her he had gotten the papers and his parents had just died.

Darria didn’t know what to say, except that she was really sorry to hear that.  She meant it and hoped she could convey her sincerity but knew she had her own reputation for caustic remarks, especially where Brad was concerned.  Still, she had always gotten along just fine with the Reynolds and they had even reached out to her recently, as things had begun to go sour in her marriage to their son.  She had bristled at the intrusion, but secretly appreciated it, too.

“Well,” he said, “I’ve got to go.  I’ve got to go pick up Mike at the airport.  Then, we’ll, um, head over to the mountains.”

“Yeah,” she said, nodding at the phone even though he, of course, could not see the motion.  Then, she quickly added, “For what it’s worth, I’m really sorry it finalized today—of all days.”

“I’m sorry they had to die today, of all days.”  He tried to think of something else to say, then, not even sure if she were still there, told her, “Good bye, Darria.  Be seeing you, huh?”

“Yeah.  I’m really sorry, Brad.”

“Thanks,” he told her as he hung up.

***

They hugged at the airport, cried a bit, then things got so quiet as they left the airport in Brad’s car that they jumped into as banal a brand of small talk as they could muster before they were even onto I-44.  “You have to wonder whose idea it was,” Brad quipped, “To build the Wiley Post Terminal of the Will Rogers Airport on Amelia Earhardt Drive.”

“What do you mean?” Mike asked.

“What do those three people have in common?”

Mike thought a moment, then nodded, “They all died in airplane crashes, didn’t they?”

They ran out of small talk just as they passed Norman, however, and were stuck with silence, again.  Suddenly, Brad said, almost to his own surprise, “I’d like the store.”

“What?” Mike responded, completely thrown off guard.  His thoughts had already gone to his wife and baby, who were driving down from Colorado and would be joining him (hopefully) the next day.  He hadn’t wanted to do it that way, but the fact was they just couldn’t afford three airplane tickets on such short notice but still felt Mike should be there for his brother as soon as possible.

“The bait shop,” Brad explained.  “I’d like the bait shop.”  Suddenly thinking it through aloud, he offered, “I’ll buy your half from you for whatever you think is fair.  I can take what I got from mine and Darria’s house and make you a down payment.  For the store and your half of Mom and Dad’s house.  I’ll get a loan to cover the rest.”

Realizing how impetuous he was being, he suddenly added, “Unless you want it.  I was just thinking that I’ve kind of been wanting out of my job—and out of Oak City—for a while now.  But I don’t think that little bait shop makes enough money for us both to live on.  So, you can have it, if—”

“No,” Mike replied, just as suddenly.  “You take it.”  After a moment, “I’m serious.  Annette and I really like Aurora.  It’s where we want Collin to grow up.  It’s home now.  Why don’t you just list me as a silent partner in the store and then slowly buy me out?  That way you won’t get nailed for all that interest.”

“I wasn’t thinking of anything like that—”

“Why not?  It works out for both of us.  I get a monthly payment I haven’t been getting and you get the store.”  After a moment, Mike asked, “Why do you want it?  I don’t remember you showing any interest in it before.”

They were several miles further along before Brad answered, “You grow up in a small town and you can’t wait to get out.  Now, I want to go back.  I know it won’t be the same.  But maybe I can recapture a little bit of what it was . . . once.  I’m a grown-up now.  As of today, I’m officially divorced—”

***

“I really feel bad about that.  Wished there was something I could have done.  Wished I had seen it coming.”

“The only people who could have were me and Darria and we waited too long to acknowledge it, and then longer to do something about it.  And you didn’t see it because we tried so hard to hide from everyone, including ourselves.  I think that’s part of why I want to get out of Oak City.  I’ll always associate this place with my marriage.  Now I can get out.”

“Do you really think going back to Medicine Park is the right answer?  You want to get away?  Come back to Aurora with me.  You’ve always liked Colorado.  You can get a job in Denver.  You’d be near family.  Lots of accounting jobs there.”

“Uhg.  I’ve done accounting, Mike.”  He smiled and added, “Maybe I could go to Texas, where cousin Denny lives.  Maybe there’s a job in Frognot.  I’ve always kind of wanted to live there just so I could have that name on my letterhead.”

***

The funeral home had done a good job, as far as such jobs went.  Instead of two people who had been in a car that had gone off a rain-soaked highway, they looked like two people who had just chosen a strange place to take a nap.  After a few moments of “viewing,” Mike commented to Brad, “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to close the lids.”

“Yeah,” Brad nodded anxiously.  He motioned to the funeral director, a thin woman with iron grey hair perfectly coiffed   She came over and, with the help of a young assistant, closed the caskets.  “Remember the line from that cousin in Arizona—I can’t ever remember his name.  I just remember being at a funeral for some uncle or other and someone comments about the body looking natural and he said, ‘No he doesn’t.  I’ve known Uncle Chuck for twenty years and not once can I remember him getting dressed up in his best suit, coming down to the church, then taking a nap in a box at the front of the room.’”

Mike actually smiled as he said, “I remember that.  Uncle Leonard, wasn’t it?  The man who died, I mean.  Lived in New Mexico somewhere, didn’t he?”

“Las Vegas, it seems like,” Brad nodded.  “I just went so I could be with Mom and Dad.”

“Yeah, and I met ya’ll there mainly so I could see everyone.  Can’t remember that cousin’s name, though.”

“Private detective, wasn’t he?  I remember that just because he was the only private detective I ever met.”

“I think you’re right.  We’ll be back in the morning,” Mike told the funeral director suddenly, when he realized the director was still right behind them.  The two brothers had already cried on each others shoulders to the point that now they were just drained and ready to leave and the moment’s laughter had been genuine under the relief it had brought.  Neither had seen the other cry like that ever, so it left a surreal picture in their minds as they left.

***

Standing in the living room of their parents’ house, dressed now in casual clothes, Annette nearby playing with Collin on the floor, Brad commented, “It just doesn’t seem real.  I keep expecting them to come in here.  For Mom to try to feed us something.”

Looking around, Mike asked, “Are you sure moving here is the right idea?  The fish and tackle shop is one thing, but this house?  Sell it and buy another one nearer the shop if you want.  You always joked you were going to buy a house in Paradise Valley just because you liked the name.  Do that.”

“Naw, this is home.  I may have never thought about having the bait shop, but I always dreamed about having this house.  Pictured Darria and I having kids and moving here.  You know, Mom and Dad always said they would move somewhere when they retired.  Figured they’d move near you in Denver and we’d get this place.  Maybe telecommute to a job in Oak City or just over in Lawton and drive in one or two days a week.”  He sighed and shrugged, “The Darria part’s gone now.  I can get the house, now, though.”

Mike bit his lip a moment, then said what he’d been thinking, not just all day but ever since he had heard that his brother was getting divorced, “Are you sure there’s no chance of you and Darria getting back together?  You two were so great together—”

“I think she’s got somebody else,” Brad answered.  At the looks in his brother and sister in law’s eyes, he quickly explained, “Don’t get the wrong idea.  She was never unfaithful.  Neither was I, for that matter.  Anyway, I heard from a mutual friend that she had met somebody at her work that she was going to go out with as soon as the divorce was final.”

“It’s not like she’s already remarried,” Mike said, ignoring the look from his wife that was trying to tell him to just shut up.  “Can’t you work things out?”

“I used to think so.  Went to counseling and everything.”  Another big shrug as he leaned on the mantel and looked into the low fire.  “Didn’t work.”  He looked over at Collin and said, “Kids were part of it, you know.  Sometimes wonder, if we had been able to have kids . . . “  After a bit, he added, “On the other hand, sure am glad we didn’t put any kids through this.  Divorce is hard on kids.”

“Well,” Mike said, stumbling over the words, “I don’t want to bug you about it.  But if you, um, get the chance, talk to Darria.  Maybe you two just needed some time away.”

Brad was too worn out to argue, so he just nodded and said, “Yeah.  Maybe so.  That’s what Dad said, too.”

***

“Thanks for coming,” Brad said as they walked away from the graveside service.  The minister from the Reynolds’ church had delivered the eulogy and had done quite well.  Brad and Mike had both thanked him for the words, and everyone else for coming out on such a cold, if sunny, day.

Darria nodded uncomfortably, then threw her arms around his neck and, sobbing, told him, “I am so sorry for you.  And for Mike, too.  But I’m really sorry for, for everything happening.  Now, of all times.”

“Well, it wasn’t just you,” he told her as he held her close, feeling her for the first time in months.  It had a strange familiarity that was surprisingly comforting.  “I know the timing was an accident.  But I, uh, do thank you for coming here today.  It really does mean a lot.  Can you come over to the house for a while?  There’s a lot more food there than even Mike and I can eat.  Give you a chance to see Annette.  And Collin, too.”

“He sure is getting big, isn’t he?” Darria commented wistfully.  She then let go of the hug, wiped her eyes and said, “I better get back into town, though.  I told the office I would try to make it back for the afternoon.”

“Well, don’t go so fast you . . . drive carefully, huh?”

She was prettier than he remembered.  Maybe it was the black dress.  He had never seen her in black because she had always said it made her look washed out.  With her reddish blonde hair and freckled skin, he had always taken her at her word.  But now, looking at her, he realized she looked pretty attractive in black.  And she had lost weight.  She wouldn’t have been able to fit in that dress when they were still together.

But then, he had lost weight, too.  He didn’t think it was stress so much as that he just hadn’t eaten as regularly since the split.  He was almost back to his college weight.  And what with walking every day in the sun, the red had come out in his brown hair and a few freckles had resurfaced that he hadn’t seen in a long time.

People used to say they belonged together but he always figured it was because they were both red haired and fair skinned.  He wondered if, that day at the cemetery, they looked like they ought to be together again.  He wondered if she were wondering the same thing.

She nodded, then kissed him on the cheek and walked away to her car.  He watched her go, not knowing how he should feel.  If it were a movie, he knew, he would run after her and catch her in his arms and convince her to stay with him.  Or he’d watch her go and cry.  But he didn’t feel like doing either.  He didn’t feel like doing anything.  So he just watched her go.

***

“You sure you don’t want me to hang around for a while?” Mike offered.  “I’ve got a couple weeks coming.  I could help you move and get settled in at the shop and all.”

“No.  Your family needs you with them.  I’ll be fine.  Old Simms is going to run the shop until I can get out there, and most of my stuff is in storage so it won’t take all that much to move it.  Got some friends that can help with that.”

“Well, if you need me, you call, all right?  It’s just you and me now, brother.”

“Hey, same here.  I mean, if you need anything, you call me.  I know how to get to Aurora.”  Brad snapped his fingers and said, “Let’s plan on getting together in a couple months.  Maybe head into the mountains or something.”

“Sounds great,”

Brad hugged Annette, thanked her for coming, and held a very wriggly Collin one more time, kissing the little boy on the forehead.  “I can’t believe how fast you can move, little guy.  You’ll be walking by the next time I see you, I bet.”

The New West – Overstreet book 3

The conclusion of the John Overstreet saga. The gunfighters are hanging up their guns, a new century is dawning, and a different kind of fight comes to the You’ll See. But one more gunfight is on the horizon for John Overstreet: the last gunfight.

Available in ebook (in many formats, including Apple) and paperback.

Reading Sample

“Aunt Melinda! Aunt Melinda!” Ben shouted as he ran up the road from town. He had run all the way and though he was about out of breath, he was long on enthusiasm and that was making the difference.
Afraid something was wrong, Melinda stepped out on the porch and was relieved that he seemed to be shouting it in a happy way. Still calling her name, he ran up onto the porch and into her arms, panting happily like a dog.
“What is it, Ben?”
He tried to tell her his news, but his wind had finally caught up with him (or left him, depending on how one looked at it) and all he could do was stand there and breathe heavily. He was a blonde-headed boy with his mother’s green eyes and his father’s good looks. A little more stout than his older brother, he was still good-sized for his age and becoming very athletic.
His real passion, though, was art. So he held up a piece of paper and managed, “Read this.”
Melinda took the paper and read, “‘Dear Mister Rathum, We are pleased to inform you that the drawing you submitted has been chosen as a finalist and will be on display in the Denver Museum of Art and is eligible for first prize in The Rocky Mountain News’ Young Artist Competition.’ Oh Ben, this is wonderful!” She gave him a hug, which he barely acknowledged as he took the paper back and read it again.
“Can we go see it? In the museum, I mean?”
“You bet we will!’ Melinda told him with another hug. “We’ll take the whole family. And we’ll be sure and let Jo and Leonard know, too.”
“Can I write them?”
“You sure can.”
“Can I tell Uncle John when he gets in?”
“Certainly.” Melinda laughed and added, “You might want to sit down and breath between now and then, though.”

“Uncle John!” Ben practically screamed as John rode into the ranch yard. “I’m a finalist!”
John got off his horse and, walking it to the Hayloft, asked, “A finalist for what?”
Ben quickly explained the commotion and showed John the paper. John read it and gave Ben a hug. “Aunt Melinda says we can go to Denver and see my picture in the museum.”
“You bet your life we will. Come on, let’s put my horse up, then we’ll go make some plans. Which picture was it?”
“That picture I drew of the Old Homestead with that special pencil you got me for Christmas.”
“That was a good picture.” He tousled Ben’s hair and added playfully, “Must’ve been the pencil.”

“And this drawing,” the tour guide explained, “Was drawn by a member of our very own tour group: Mister Benjamin Rathum of Como. Wave your hand, Ben.”
As Ben shyly stuck up his hand, the group of a couple score people clapped politely and several were heard to remark that it was amazing a child of his age could draw so well. He received several pats on the back and more than one vote of confidence that he would win the prize. Nervous beyond belief, Ben held tightly to John Mac’s hand and just nodded at all the compliments. If anyone noticed that Ben’s blonde hair didn’t seem to fit in with the black-haired family he was traveling with, they were polite enough not to say anything.
Everyone involved, including Ben, thought of him as part of the Overstreet family these days. John Mac followed him around the way Andrew and Emily followed John Mac around and John and Melinda treated him like one of their own. In return, he treated John and Melinda as if they were his parents. Almost from the moment he had come to live with them, there had been a bond of love that was so strong as to be unbelievable. But Ben was a very special boy, one bound to make a mark in the world if in no other way than all the people he would be kind to.
As the tour moved on, Melinda realized that Emily was about to fall asleep where she stood. Melinda whispered to John, “I’m just going to sit in that chair over there and snuggle Emily. She needs a nap and my feet are killing me.”
“We’ll come back and get you before we leave,” John whispered in return.
Melinda sat in a big, surprisingly comfortable chair, and Emily eagerly climbed into her lap. She had chattered on the whole train ride from Como and in the carriage from the train station to the museum and had worn herself out. And while she and Andrew were both giving up their naps as a general rule, Emily could still be persuaded to take one in her mother’s lap now and again.
As she sat there, Melinda found that she was almost tired enough to go to sleep herself. They had gotten up early, then all dressed in their best clothes so they could come straight to the museum, and the long day was suddenly catching up with her. Through half-focused eyes, Melinda absently watched the few other patrons who had elected to tour the museum sans a guide.
There was an elderly couple who talked happily about every picture; a college-aged looking young man who scrutinized every piece of art as if he were a world-renown art critic visiting the Louvre; and a middle-aged woman with fading blonde hair who stopped at every picture, examined the name plate then moved on without seeming to have seen the picture at all.
Melinda found herself watching the woman. She moved slowly, her feet almost dragging, as if she had walked to the museum from a great distance. Melinda had read of people who appeared to be “beaten down by life” and, while she had seen a few such people, this woman was the personification of the idea. Melinda couldn’t see her face, but she could see the slumped shoulders, the tired gait, the hands that reached out to every name plate as if for a life raft.
Melinda began to wonder about the woman and what her story might be. She tried not to stare at the woman—even though she guessed that the woman was oblivious to everything around her—but cast furtive glances her way in an attempt to, somehow, read the woman’s story. Suddenly, Melinda was very awake, but was also thankful that Emily was there. An inveterate people watcher, Melinda had spent many hours watching people while holding one or another of her children on the porch of the Como Hotel or the boardwalk on Rowe Street. She had even done it a few times in Denver and had always enjoyed it immensely for there were so many more people to watch.
The woman was wearing a traveling dress of impeccable style, which would have been incongruous with the picture she put forth except that it was still dusty from travel. In a world where the streets were mostly dirt and carriages mostly open, the dust wasn’t necessarily out-of-place. But the dress was so nice, Melinda realized that what looked odd was that normally someone with a dress like that wouldn’t have stepped out of their railway car without borrowing a brush from one of the porters and giving it a once-over.
The train? Melinda suddenly wondered why she thought this woman had just gotten off a train. She realized, with closer scrutiny, that it wasn’t just dust that clung to the woman’s dress but soot. That fine soot that Melinda had been so careful to brush off her own dress before coming over.
So what would posses a person who seemed so ill at ease with life to hop a train and come to a museum? Maybe, Melinda thought, she’s downtown for something else and stopped by the museum to kill time. There were a few lawyer’s offices nearby and the capitol building wasn’t all that far away.
No. She came to believe as she watched the woman (less and less furtively), that the woman was in the museum for a purpose. There was something in these pictures that she was looking for. What could it be?
No again. As Melinda watched the woman’s movements she realized that the woman was looking not at the pictures but the names. One of these pictures was done by someone that meant something to the woman. A grandchild perhaps? All the pictures in this room were done by children twelve years of age and under and it was unlikely that this woman could have a child in that range.
What is it about a grandchild’s picture that would so enthrall this woman, so entrance her that she would travel across country to see it?
The woman came then to Ben’s picture and stopped. She actually looked at the picture, and then put her hand on the name plate as if it and not the wall behind it were holding her up. She put her other hand to her heart as if to keep it from killing her, and just stared.
Just as Melinda began to shoot various scenarios through her mind to explain these events, she mumbled to herself, “Oh my!”